


Blame

by Ora (Finale)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 22:28:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8551615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finale/pseuds/Ora
Summary: His brother is dead.





	

_“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop her.”_

_“It is alright Miss Oxton. I do not blame you for my brother’s death.”_

_************_

Zenyatta watches the sun rise, making the ocean blush pink and slowly bring light back into the world. Most of Overwatch is still asleep, unlikely to arise until midmorning at earliest. Some, like Hana Song, would not awaken till midday. She may have even just gone to bed.

            He does spy one other awake Overwatch member. Tracer. Or more appropriately, he spots the Orca as she returns to Gibraltar. She had been on a mission with Pharah and Mercy in King’s Row, a matter to do with the rising human-omnic violence there. Violence that would likely not come to an easy end, not with Mondatta’s death.

            Zenyatta attempts to focus on the slowly rising sun instead of Mondatta’s murder. Focus on the birth of a new day, burning away the remnants of the night, but he can’t.  All he can think is, ‘what if, what if, what if?’. What if he had agreed to go to London with Mondatta? What if Tracer had taken the bullet, trapping herself in the time stream? What if?

            Mondatta would not like him having these thoughts, Zenyatta knows. The thoughts of what could have been, rather than what is, or what will be. Mondatta would not want him dwelling on his death, would want him thinking on how to further bring peace and understanding between humans and omnics. Would want him to keep moving forward.

            But it is so very, very hard to do so with the regrets that hold him, the blame he feels.

_************_

            _“I wish it had been you,” Mitra says softly, almost too low for him to catch._

_“Pardon?” he asks, hoping he misheard them. He had prayed nothing like this would happen. That he was still welcome here._

_“I said, I wish it had been you,” Mitra repeats, the six dots on their head almost glowing in defiance. “I wish you had been the one shot in London, that it was Mondatta sitting before me now.”_

_“Mitra…” Zenyatta pauses, not quite sure what to say._

_“He should still be alive! Had you not abandoned us, had you been there like he asked, he would still be alive!” Mitra snaps. “It should be you dead and him here, or both of you here. Not you alone, and him lost.” Mitra shudders, a soft hiss of steam as they try to cool their rage._

_“It should have been you.”_

_************_

            He lives. Tracer lives. His brother’s murderer lives.

            But his brother is dead. And he will always blame himself for that.

 

             


End file.
